Chapter Twenty-Four

By the time Maeve leaves to get ready for work after a relaxed start to her day, I've come down at least enough to understand that I was overreacting when Trish called. I know I've been lying by omission to Maeve, but the festival is still a little over two months away. There's no difference between telling her a month ahead of time and telling her four months ahead of time. Besides, she went with me to the Oscars; she even said she understands how chaotic Hollywood makes my life. We'll make a solid lesson plan for the week I'm gone and I'll throw in tickets for her to come down to Cannes on the weekend. She's a cinema historian; it'd be incredible to go to a festival like Cannes. It's a sweet deal.

This can be fine. I just have to stop—stop, I don't even know? Letting this fester inside me? Being completely irrational?

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Charlie saying goodbye to Jordan. I massage my temples as I sip ginger tea at the table, my weak attempt to soothe my stomach. Not that I even really need it. God, I can't even remember the last time anxiety wasn't the source of my physical illness. It should be a relief, the way the feeling disappears as soon as the trigger leaves (I just called my girlfriend a trigger), but all I can focus on is how quickly it comes on. I was lucky that this time it happened in my home, out of sight of anyone—

"You've got your anxiety face on," Charlie says, plopping back into his seat at the kitchen table. "And you never drink tea unless you're sick."

I exhale. "Oakley got into Cannes."

I expect Charlie to light up in that firecracker way he always does when he gets excited, get a sparkle in his blue eyes, a grin that's so big it looks like he's going to break his face, start jumping up and hugging the nearest human in the vicinity and squeezing all his excitement into them.

But he doesn't do that. His hand twitches as if he's hesitant to reach out to me. "You haven't told Maeve yet, have you?"

A lump clings to my throat. "I thought I'd at least wait until I knew if I'd be booked."

Charlie nods. "So now you know. Cannes is usually in the last week of May, isn't it?"

"Early May this year."

"That's two months from now."

I don't need to be this anxious; I need to problem solve. I grab the kava from my supplement cabinet, and down a dose. If this shit gets me through press, it can get me through having this conversation. Even if I have to pretend at first. I return to Charlie.

"So the dean says that they're evaluating Maeve on her ability to collaborate as part of this grant process. But this class has an additional professional angle. I was going to talk about the audition process and on set interest points for movie musicals, but honestly, I'm going off brief interactions with that world. Most of my musical knowledge is, as you know"—I grimace—"academic."

Charlie nods. "So you need a guest who's done musical movie stuff, basically."

"Yeah." I study Charlie, suddenly remembering the entirely of his filmography. Remembering Hadestown. "Someone like you."

It's like a siren has gone off in my head. Of course. Of course this is the solution. Maeve's comfortable with Charlie, so it'd be a natural fit. My breath catches in my throat as I wait for his answer.

"So, like, I do a Q and A before heading to France?" he asks.

"Yeah. I can write you a ten-minute lecture. The kids will come prepared with questions, so you won't have to fill space. I'll cover all the events for us that day in Cannes. They'll expect me to be fronting the promo being the director, anyway."

"And this would be assuming class falls anytime other than the premiere itself."

"The class this semester meets Wednesdays and the premiere is on a Friday. You don't have to go to anything before the premiere anyway. Even with the long flight, you'd have a handle on the jet lag before—" I pause. "I mean, unless you had something you really wanted to see. I'm asking you for a huge favor right now. No, forget it. The timing is awful."

He pulls his lips into a thin line. "I guess it's something to add to the résumé. And, yeah, you get more jet-lagged than me."

Before I even really know what I'm doing, I throw my arms around Charlie in a hug. "Thank you so, so much. I'll get everything to you within the week."

We pull away. "When should I talk to Maeve about this?" he asks.

Cold bolts through me. "When Ashlee confirms the evaluation date. There's no point giving Maeve time to freak out if the timing works out."

Charlie frowns. "Val, come on. Just tell Maeve now." He shakes his head. "I don't even understand why you think this is such a big deal. This is fucking Cannes. People should be bending over backward for you to have the smoothest ride possible to a dream opportunity. And now you have a solid backup plan in place. It's not like you're throwing an assistant into a press event to answer all your questions for you because you ‘got food poisoning.'?"

Despite everything, a pang of mortification still hits me from that memory. Poor Nicole. At least she's a junior executive at a Disney affiliate now.

"Charlie, it's just—" I exhale. My heart's speeding up again. "I committed to this. I've already majorly dropped the ball for my class responsibilities in August. I just— I can't shake the feeling that deep down, Maeve's still waiting for another reason to believe the first impression she had of me is the real me. That I really am this vapid, selfish asshole who only considers academia a distraction until my career gets back on track. That— What if she thinks I think she's just a shiny object to make me seem more interesting?"

Charlie grabs my hand. Heat prickles in my chest, but it doesn't move to my whole body the way it usually does when he comforts me. "You know that's not true. What you and Maeve have is so much more than that. You have to trust her and believe that she feels the same way you do."

I swallow hard, trying to get rid of the goddamn lump in my throat. But my eyes are starting to burn with tears. Charlie and I are honest with each other.

"Okay."

Then he frowns. My stomach flips.

"I don't want to overstep, but have you, you know, talked to Rosalie about medication lately?" Charlie knows all about my mental health struggles, from the huge stuff to the way everyday life has become unbearable for me at times, the way each outing when the anxiety is particularly bad feels like cutting wires on a bomb. He knows, but we talk about it so rarely. And when my sweet, goofy best friend is saying it, it sounds so grave. It sounds real.

"I started nonprescription antianxiety meds at the beginning of the year. They're—"

"Clearly not strong enough. There are prescription medications. And maybe it's just that this one is not the right fit, but your anxiety has gotten worse lately. You shouldn't be this freaked over the class thing. And Cannes will be the busiest press schedule you've ever had, with more expected of you. I want you to be as prepared as you can be."

"There's just been more—"

"But, Val, there's always going to be more! You want to keep acting and producing and directing and there's always going to be more press, more filming, more public appearances. People aren't going to stop recognizing you and unless you become fully nocturnal, you're going to have to go outside—that's not going to change. Even if you left Hollywood behind completely and went back to your roots and taught and lived a cute little academic life with Maeve, it wouldn't make the anxiety go—"

Charlie's eyes widen.

My insides curdle.

"Is that why you're trying so hard to leave Hollywood?"

"What?"

But the realization hits me hard and fast, and all the color drains from my face. It makes so much sense, it's such an easy explanation, but to reckon with it. Fuck. Tears prickle in my eyes, falling as I try to steady the trembling in my throat.

Charlie's expression softens. Softens so much that I swear I see tears in his eyes too. "I really think you should talk to Rosalie about medication. I hate seeing you like this, and I don't want it to have a negative effect on the amazing things you've brought into your life. Both when it comes to Hollywood and with Maeve. I'll do you a solid this time, but more conflicts are going to come up in the future."

There has to be another explanation. This teaching job has brought on more stress than I've experienced in a while. Sure, it feels more manageable than the stress I get during press tours and photo shoots and film shoots, but it's still there. I never had that much of an ulterior motive to taking the teaching job. I like teaching. It's something I'm good at. And, besides, if I'm trying to escape my anxiety by doing this job, what the hell does that imply with Maeve? That I'm only with her because she represents an anxiety-free future I can never have?

Is that why I like her?

No. God, just the thought turns into a stabbing pain. My head starts spinning. "Charlie, stop."

"I'm just trying—"

I flex my fist in anger; I can see a scenario play out in front of me. I snap at him, tell him to fuck off, tell him he has no idea what he's talking about. I make him leave my space so it doesn't feel like it's closing in on me.

But I can't do that.

"Please," I say. "I'll—I'll think about prescription meds. I'll tell Maeve about Cannes. I don't want to have any more secrets."

My body feels like it's turned to ice as I watch Charlie's face, brittle and ready to break if I say the wrong thing. I wait with breath caught in my throat for his next move, for him to deliver the verbal lashing I've deserved for months.

Charlie sighs, though.

Then he gets sad again. "Would you be mad if I was keeping a secret from you?"

What secret could Charlie be keeping from me? "No, I wouldn't. But I'd want to know if I could help you."

"I didn't tell you the whole truth about Star Trek." His voice is soft, pulsing with vulnerability I haven't heard from him since he moved in. "I know why it was canceled."

A jolt goes through my heart. He'd told me it was canceled in such a straightforward way, but he had seemed extra upset about it. I can't believe I didn't ask more questions.

"Despite the great reviews, the majority of our fandom supporting Casey and my character's pairing and the producers being cool with it, there was still this huge vocal minority of viewers who hated it," Charlie explains. "They got loud enough that executives decided developing the romantic relationship was too risky. They asked me and Casey if we'd be comfortable backing down and returning to a storyline that focused more on unspoken longing. Basically they wanted to redact the gay plotline."

There's an ache I get when I hear stories like this. An ache that's so hard to describe to anyone who isn't queer. It's the feeling you get when people you were vulnerable enough to trust betray you, a sting of self-hatred that comes from a piece of you deep in your psyche that believes what you are is wrong after all.

"Casey was willing to try the compromise, told me that our clearly homophobic showrunner would be out in a season, and we could get back on track. But I refused. I couldn't do that to the queer people watching this show who were feeling so validated and seen and valued. I put my foot down, despite my team's insistence that I take it. I said I'd quit the show and expose what they were doing." He squeezes his eyes shut. "So they just canceled. All those people lost their jobs, Casey lost his first huge role just as he was blowing up. Because of me. Because I was too stubborn."

I can't blink back the tears anymore. I let them fall as I move over to Charlie and pull him into a hug. The kind of hug he normally gives me, tight, with my hands fanned out so he knows I'm here with him right now. He takes a deep breath, his body shuddering against me.

"That was so unbelievably brave," I tell Charlie. "I'm so proud of you, and I'm sure if everyone on that set knew what you did and why you did it, they'd feel the same way. I'm sure Casey does. That's—" The burn of anger is back, but it suddenly feels much more relevant. "That's fucking infuriating that they put you in that position. Fuck your team for betraying you and what you stand for like that. Charlie, I—" I exhale. "I think you should expose this. The gay storyline was so popular, and if fans and other networks knew why it ended, what if someone else picks it up?"

He shakes his head. "I can't do that. I can't— I could hardly tell you about this. Telling the whole world? For what? For some pity articles to gradually die out and have nothing concrete happen? I can't do that to myself. I'm not strong enough for it. I've been living at your house for six months because I'm such a loser. I can't—"

It stings to see a shame I'm so familiar with reflected in him. When all I want to say is that I wouldn't have gotten through the last six months without him. Yes, I have been kind of annoyed that he's seemingly overstayed his welcome at times. But I love and value him, and I am so proud of him.

"You can. And I'll help you."

"Val…"

"You've done so much for me. It's time I return the favor."

There's a long pause.

Then he nods, shooting me a friendly head shake. "Because obviously getting a film I'm starring in into Cannes isn't enough."

We spend the last Tuesday of March focusing on Charlie. We compose a statement for him to release on his social media platforms and then we post it Monday night. By Wednesday morning, we're flooded with an outpouring of support. Major Hollywood publications are asking Charlie to write a larger article for them, and by the time I step into lecture with Maeve, I've already signed, like, five petitions to have Star Trek moved to a streaming service. His team has been silent, but Trish texted me saying Charlie's a bold one. The closest, I suspect, she'll get to asking me if he's fired his manager yet.

It should leave me feeling good as I enter Maeve's office prior to lecture. But I just can't shake the feeling that I'm not following through on my promise to Charlie. In therapy on Monday, I told Rosalie about Cannes and the fact that I'm going to have to tell Maeve what's going on, but I failed to ask about medication. I'd gone in planning to, but the words got stuck in my throat and couldn't be coaxed out. It's left me feeling uneasy, like I've forgotten something important even though this time I know what I "forgot."

It's basically not a good time to put me on the spot. I force a deep breath as Maeve sits at her desk, Ty and I taking the couch.

"Hey, can you show me your notes from the jukebox musical lecture?" Maeve asks me.

"Do you want the couch?" Ty teases.

The answer to Maeve's question falls out of my brain. But Maeve herself just gives him a Really? look. "I think I can contain myself." But she flashes a smile.

I have to admit, there's a lot of stress going on around me, but it's made me really happy to see Maeve grow closer to Ty. Not to mention the relief that comes from Ty not being weird about us dating since he found out. I tried to give them their space to do their own thing, but they've even started to invite me to some of their screenings and museum visits. As they joke around, I send Maeve the notes.

"Thanks." Maeve leans forward as she scans my email. "If we get to do this class for a third semester, we need another older musical."

"Do Tommy," Ty suggests. "It fits jukebox, satire, and adaptation."

Maeve raises a finger. "Noting that one."

I motion to Ty. "That's way better than me suggesting one of the Beatles' films."

"Ha!" Ty says, jumping up to face Maeve. "You owe me fifty."

I may rescind that I-like-this-friendship thing. "You made a bet on me?"

Maeve's smiling again. "It was…" She pauses. "I thought you wouldn't want any Beatles on the course syllabus because that was your first attempted dissertation topic, not the dissertation you actually finished with. I figured it was an academic sore spot, but Ty thought differently."

"Wait, did you read both my dissertations?"

Maeve nods. "They're very thought-provoking."

"All good, I hope."

"Very good." Even at this professional distance, she makes my heart flutter.

"And then you'll tell me why you're so fucking obsessed with La Vie d'Adèle."

Maeve exchanges a look with Ty.

"The question is why you're not obsessed with it!" Ty says.

I just brought up queer cinema. Oakley in Flames is queer cinema. It's the perfect opportunity to bring up Cannes. With Charlie on board, all we have to figure out are flights for Maeve. Once the class is taken care of, we can do the fun stuff—I'll walk her through the first-class plane ticket, the luxury hotel accommodation, get her some more nice dresses for the red carpet. It'll be like the Oscars, but better. We can rip off the Band-Aid and I can start being an actual functioning human being. I can do this. The natural antianxiety medication works.

But even turning to meet Maeve's gaze is making my heart hammer, my stomach twist up. "I know the newest book is about 2000s queer cinema, but do you keep up with what's coming out now?"

Maeve rubs the back of her neck. "I did up until maybe three months ago, but it's been difficult with my schedule lately. I need to get a schedule going again."

It feels like my ribs are pressing against my lungs, digging into them. I don't dare take a breath for fear they pop like balloons. "I could get you tickets to festivals featuring the newest queer cinema, just so you know." And Oakley in Flames got into Cannes…

She smiles. "That'd be amazing." That smile, the one that filled my heart, holds me in a chokehold. I genuinely can't breathe.

"Yeah, uh"—I rub the back of my neck—"there's tons of amazing work out there right now."

Maeve's lips twitch downward. "Babe, are you okay?"

I force a breath, but it's like I'm trying to fill a pool with a bucket. The room starts to blur around the edges. And why the hell did I start this conversation with Ty in the room looking even more confused than Maeve?

"I'm—I—" Oakley in Flames got into Cannes. This is the biggest career win I've had since my Oscar nomination. It could change my life, and I want you there if you'll ever forgive me for leaving for two weeks at crunch time in the most important semester of your career.

There's a knock on the door.

It's Ashlee.

"Hey, everyone," she says, chipper and completely oblivious to what just transpired. "I'm so sorry it's been so long since we last spoke. Maeve, if you don't mind, I'm going to sit in on the last class of the semester. That'll be okay, right?"

The same week as my Cannes premiere.

I look at Ashlee and speak with the desperation of someone begging for their life. "I don't mean to be this way, but I actually have something planned that week. Could we do before or after?"

Ashlee frowns. "I'm so sorry, Valeria, but that's the only time we can fit it in. We're already pushing up on the grant decision date."

I'll make this work. I can't let Maeve down. "I should be able to move my conflict. Don't worry about it."

Maeve looks to me, head cocked. I give a soft dismissive wave.

"Sounds great to me," she says to Ashlee. "Get it out of the way before my conference in late May."

Ashlee smiles. "Perfect."

Maybe I'm too exhausted. I must be. There's no feeling in my body. Only the sensation that I'm a little too far away, a little too distant to feel the texture of Maeve's couch or the cold punch of the air-conditioning or the heat of Maeve's gaze on me.

"What do you have planned for that week?" she asks.

I can just say it right now. Oakley got into Cannes. Waiting for Ashlee to confirm the date was just an excuse, anyway.

"Nothing that can't be moved," I reply.

I wasn't able to get the confession out. I hate myself for it, but I can't.

Not that it can matter right now. I have a class to keep teaching.